


Bitter Flowers To Swallow

by kingaoh



Series: Notion Drafts [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29717124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingaoh/pseuds/kingaoh
Summary: A wet rose landed in the ridge between his legs, unnecessarily tinged with a bit of blood, almost as if his lungs had overheard the conversation and were already done with downplaying the severity of his condition.His father took a sharp breath. 'You are having the surgery.'***Unable to face the truth that the object of his Hanahaki didn’t return his feelings, Prince Stiles enlists the help of a stable boy to fake the greatest love story ever told.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Notion Drafts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2209353
Comments: 7
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> my prince headcanon is that all princes start off as entitled little pricks before they fall in love so...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The opening is directly inspired by the historical comedy novel, My Lady Jane by Cynthia Hand. If you want a bit of a laugh, a bit of romance, a bit of history and a The Princess Bride type of vibe, I recommend you read it.
> 
> I was rereading it and I thought, ‘That’s funny. Let me start off my prince fic like that.’ And here we are.

As it turned out, the prince was dying.

'When?' The king asked Deaton, the royal physician. 'How long does he have?'

Prince Stiles watched Deaton wipe his brow, prolonging his answer. It was like pulling teeth, getting the physician to say anything. Not that Stiles could blame him. In his line of work, giving bad news to royalty often led to the stockades. Or worse.

'Seeing as the prince can no longer easily hide it,' the physician finally sighed, giving Stiles a pointed look, 'a month. Perhaps even two, with careful moderation.'

'Hide it?' His father's brow crinkled in confusion.

Deaton hesitated, eyeing Stiles. As subtly as he could, Stiles shook his head minutely.

'Uh,' the doctor cleared his throat, looking at his father again. 'Well, considering how far along the disease has progressed, it's honestly a surprise that the prince didn't know about the illness. Unless he was deliberately concealing it.'

Snitch.

His father fixed him with his familiar disappointed look. It was disconcerting how Stiles had grown immune to it.

'Leave us.'

The physician bowed, and turned to walk out, unaccompanied by the lone guard in the room. The guard in turn waited for a signal from the king, before they walked out, leaving father and son alone.

Silence descended between them, the tension thickening. Stiles fidgeted in his sickbed, fighting a cough born more out of discomfort than affliction. He struggled to suppress the flower stuck in his throat, a feat his father observed with cold eyes. Tears sprung up in his eyes and finally, he just let it happen, a series of short gasps before he drew in a bigger breath and just hacked it out.

A wet rose landed in the ridge between his legs, unnecessarily tinged with a bit of blood, almost as if his lungs had overheard the conversation and were already done with downplaying the severity of his condition.

His father took a sharp breath. 'You are having the surgery.'

Ah. Surgery. The only truly effective treatment to his impendiment. After all, what better way to stop the flowers in his chest from blooming enough to choke him to death from the inside than to simply remove them. Never mind that removing the flowers themselves would remove every shred of affection of the one who was the cause. Who cared about these other side-effects when you were guaranteed to live anyway?

'I don't think so,' Stiles hummed, moving to cross his arms and glare. The effect was lost on his father, when all the movement did was to get him silently and violently shaking as he tried to suppress another flower.

His father waited until he was done spitting out a row of blood-spotted roses onto the blanket before offering a handkerchief. Stiles accepted it graciously, wiping off his spit and tainting its purity. He thought it was rather indelicate to be handed a white handkerchief in the first place.

'From what I know, there are only shady amateurs operating in Beacon. However, there is a professional surgeon I've heard about overseas, and if we send a bird today, he will be here in a matter of three weeks,' His father continued, ignoring him.

Stiles rolled his eyes. 'I'm going to confess my love tomorrow.'

His father froze. 'Don't.'

'It's the fastest way to a cure.'

'It's also the fastest way to death,' his father cut in. 'We need to wait.'

Stiles could already see how the following weeks were going to go, be that he gave in to his father's demands. Swaddled in bed, unable to go out under the pretence of sickness, when his father's real motivation was to keep his sickness under wraps.

'Whether I choose to have the surgery or not is my choice, Dad.'

His father sighed, his arm lifting to rub his fingers on the bridge of his nose. His teeth bit his bottom lip almost worringly, in the way he did before telling Stiles something he didn't want to say.

'Son, surgery is your only choice.'

'Telling them how I feel—'

'Granted, I see how you think that would work,' his father cut in sternly, 'But that is absolutely not a risk we can take. The chances of them... I’m sorry but I can’t allow it.’

Stiles slumped back in his bed, a hurt expression slowly clouding his face. 'You think they won't love me back.'

His father sighed. 'Hanahaki is a disease rooted in conviction. How can you expect me to hope for something that you don't even believe in?'

Stiles's heart hurt, and not just from the flowers pushing against it. It was one thing to love someone so devastatingly, that one could die for it. It was another thing knowing to continue to do so would kill you.

Loving Lydia Martin wasn't something Stiles chose on a whim. It was something he couldn't have run from if he wanted. Men fell on the floor to kiss the esteemed banshee ever since she was just a babe, and that fate hadn't excluded the heir to the Beacon Hills Throne. It crept up on him, consumed it until it ultimately decided to kill him.

And yet even he, with all his riches and titles, could not get her to look at him for more than a minute. It did things to his pride, her blatant disregard for him. It did even worse things for his health, one look at the bloody handkerchief in his hand could tell you that.

Was it seriously too much to ask for some support?

Stiles turned his head away, closing his eyes as he rested his head on his pillow. It was a dismissal as clear as day. 'I'll see you tomorrow, father. Live and healthy.'

'Stiles, I'm only saying this because I love you.' His father said sternly. ‘A rejection will only make this worse.’

‘I’m not counting in getting rejected tomorrow, father.’ Stiles sniffed. ‘I have a plan.’

‘Miezcyslaw, I know you better than I know myself. If this plan involves manipulating whoever it is that has caught your attention into loving you back because you are dying, you are going to be disappointed.’

The cruel words hit Stiles right in the chest with guilt. He had been fantasizing all day about showing Lydia the proof of his adoration, and perhaps seeing it dawn in her face the realization that she could not live in a world without him. He had imagined she would also drop the act that she had no feelings for him, and return his confession.

Still he ignored his father, refusing to admit the accuracy of his words, despite knowing that the silence did all the talking for him.

After what felt like ages, his father huffed. ‘If your stubborn pride won’t listen to me then at least listen to yourself. Do you honestly think you will be happy never knowing if you were cured by the strength of someone’s love or by their pity?’

In response, Stiles began to cough again,this fit lasting longer than the others. Once he was done, a huge rose rested in his arms, dripping phlegm, saliva and blood onto his sheets. Stiles looked at it with hatred, and transferred his gaze from it to his father.

‘My plan will work and then you will see how wrong you are,’ he croaked, trying to sound convincing. ‘You will see.’

His father shook his head. ‘From now on, you will be stripped of your responsibilities until you are better. You are not permitted to step outside the castle without any authority from me.’

Stiles’s eyes widened. ‘You _cannot_ do that.’

His father lifted his arms to adjust the  crown on his head. ‘I believe this says I can.’

‘You can’t possibly stop me.’

‘I would have failed you as your father if I didn’t try to,’ the king stated sternly, turning to leave. ‘From tomorrow, you will have more than one guard with you, watching your every movement and reporting back to me. I suggest you use this time alone to think things through.’

‘You are dead to me!’ Stiles screamed, watching his father open the door and leave. The door slammed shut, leaving him alone in his room. 

Stiles crushed the rose in his hands, spitefully, picturing it as his father’s head. His temper wasn’t a common occurence but it occassionally came up whenever he didn’t get anything he wanted. He watched the rose petals fall apart the harder he squished his hand, his mind already racing with ways to get back at his father.

The only option he had was to go against his wishes and confess to Lydia. But with guards tailing him and telling on him to his father, there would be no way of getting her alone to tell her after today. If his father got the slightest inclination that it was her, she would be forbidden to even talk to him, much less write. The plan was hopeless...

... unless he could somehow talk to her that very night.

As far as he was concerned, his father was on his way to writing the order and it would take a while for the guards to be assigned and the rule to be executed. So far, the only one who could possibly know about Stiles’s grouding was the guard outside, no doubt debriefed before his father left.

Stiles eyed his window. He had escaped from it a few times, and it would only take ten minutes to scale it down with two sheets. Granted that was before he had a garden of deadly roses growing in him. 

Still he could give it a try...

Stiles threw the crushed rose petals on his cover, opening it out to step out from his bed. As quietly as he could, he waljed over to his door and peeped through the hole. Sure enough, the guard was still there, keeping watch. Quietly, he slid his hand down and softly turned the lock, watching the guard closely as it made a soft click.

Seeing the guard not react, Stiles quickly sprung into action. He changed his clothes, trading his nightgown into a slightly more appealing tunic. After all, one had to try to look one’s best when admitting feelings of attraction. He raced to the bathroom to wash his face. There was nothing to do for his hair, it was too unruly to fix.

He paused when he glanced at his expression in the mirror. He had lost a lot of weight since the day he first coughed up a flower. He had always been the slender type but the effect was still noticeable. His neck looked sunken, and the bones in his jaw jutted out a bit more. Another week of this, and it would have been difficult to hide it any more.

It was his eyes that caught his attention. His anger and hurt pride still reflected in them, making them burn a bright fire but there was no mistaking that he was terrified. His fear shone through, reflected back at him from his hollow face. Scared of rejection. Scared of dying.

But this wasn’t the time to feel sorry for himself. This wasn’t the time for fear.

Stiles pointed to himself and spoke sternly to his reflection. ‘You are the prince of Beacon Hills. You are smart, funny and anyone would have to be a fool not to love you.’

It did nothing to convince him. Hanahaki was a disease that was based on the belief of unrequited love, and deep down inside, Stiles knew that if Lydia truly loved him, there wouldn’t be flowers in his chest.

Still, his fear for needles was real. And the fear that he would forget the feelings that he had had for five odd years was even more real. Loving Lydia Martin was so ingrained in him, he was terrified of what he would be without those feelings, terrified of the person he would be.

This mission was the only way. Confessing was the only option. Stiles was going to tell Lydia he loved her. And he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I'll be back before dark.' A whole lie. Derek ignores that.
> 
> 'I can't permit you to do that.' Derek says, unapologetically. He straightens up and crosses his arms. 'I have direct orders from the king.'
> 
> The prince pales. 'Already?'
> 
> Derek quirks a brow. 'It's always been a rule that you aren't allowed to ride at night alone.'
> 
> 'Oh,' Prince Stiles says, visibly perking up. 'That rule. Right.' The prince hums, pondering over something to himself. He takes a quick look around, regarding the horses before his gaze lands back on Derek. 'Well, prepare another horse for yourself. You are coming with me.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the lovers meet, some non-first impressions are made, stiles is a dick, this is really just a filler chapter to set up everything .

'My kingdom for a horse.'

The cry wakes Derek up from his nap with a jolt, floundering as he falls off the wooden bench he had made his bed. Annoyed, he glances up and freezes when he catches sight of a familiar pair of hazelnut brown eyes that normally haunt him in his dreams.

'Stable boy.' Prince Stiles smirks, staring down at him from the other side of the stable door.

'Your highness,' Derek greets back dryly, offering a stiff nod as his curtsy. 'Always a pleasure.'

'Hard at work, as always,' Prince Stiles's smirk grows into a wide grin. 'I'm not bothering you, am I?'

'No, your grace,' Derek offers a tight smile. He picks himself up from the floor and dusts himself off. 'Just taking a small break, that's all.'

'Yes, I imagine the work must be tiring,' the prince sneers at him, good-humouredly.

Derek clenches his jaw, attempting to hide his embarrassment as he bent down to wipe some lost hay off of his boots. Seconds pass, then he hears a soft click as the stable door opens and another pair of riding boots join his on top of the hay filled floor.

Derek looks up, brow raised in question at the prince. 'Going somewhere, your highness?'

'I need a horse,' the prince ignores his question, eyes darting everywhere in search. ‘The fastest one you have.’

‘There’s a carriage that’s just arrived from the village. I can get them to...’

‘No,’ the prince says quickly. ‘I..uh.. I only need a horse. I’m planning on going for a ride. Alone.’

Derek watches the prince closely. It’s not his first rodeo having to deal with Prince Stiles being shady. He’s been working in the royal stables for no more than a years and he’s gathered enough acumen to spot when the prince is looking for trouble.

The prince does not look in his direction, avoiding his eyes as best as he can whilst he pretends to look around for horses in the stable. Derek chances a glance behind the prince, and sure enough, there is no one tailing him. No guard, no supervisor, not even a servant.

'It's approaching sunset soon and you want to ride. Alone?'

'I'll be back before dark.' A whole lie. Derek ignores that.

'I can't permit you to do that.' Derek says, unapologetically. He straightens up and crosses his arms. 'I have direct orders from the king.'

The prince pales. 'Already?'

Derek quirks a brow. 'It's always been a rule that you aren't allowed to ride at night alone.'

'Oh,' Prince Stiles says, visibly perking up. ' _That_ rule. Right.' The prince hums, pondering over something to himself. He takes a quick look around, regarding the horses before his gaze lands back on Derek. 'Well, prepare another horse for yourself. You are coming with me.'

'What.' Despite his tone, or in his case the lack of it, Derek's heartbeat considerably picks up. He immediately curses his excitement.

'Come on, let's get a move on,' Prince Stiles said, grimacing as he lets out a small cough. He clears his throat inspecting the fist he had coughed into. 'I've got places I need to be.'

Derek hesitates. On the one hand, he's positive that the prince is up to no good and if he gets caught, it could mean bad things for the both of them but worse things for Derek. On the other hand, one simply does not get offered a ride alone with the prince, at sunset, just the two of them. Alone.

The prince looks at him expectantly. 'Well?'

'Where are you going.' Derek asks abruptly. Prince Stiles raises his eyebrows so Derek amends himself. 'Your highness.'

'You'll find out soon,' the price says dismissively, entering the stable. He walks over to a black stallion and pats her gently. 'I think she'll do.'

'Betsy's vision isn't the best for night riding,' Derek says, walking over to another horse in the opposite stall. He curses himself as he starts preparing the white stallion, not even sure why he's even going along with the prince's demands.

Actually, he kind of already knows. It's kind of obvious in the way his body literally vibrates with excitement at the thought of it. Obvious in the way he keeps sneaking glances at the prince, literally preening as the prince visibly looks impressed at the speed he saddles the horses up. Not that the prince even notices. Prince Stiles rarely ever noticed what his presence did to others unless they had fiery red hair, green eyes and the most gorgeous woman in all of Beacon.

This probably means nothing to the prince. For all he knows, the prince could have a habit of asking whatever lone stable boy he found napping in the stables to go riding with him. Derek's obviously a placeholder, a convenience that happened to be in the right place at the right time. For goodness sake, the prince doesn't even know his name.

Well, try telling his stupid heart that.

The prince coughs twice more behind him. Derek pauses, looking back at the prince, just barely catching the prince hide something behind his back.

'Uh.'

They stand there awkwardly, watching each other.

'Mm?'

'You seem ill.' Derek says slowly. 'Are you sure you are alright to ride?'

'Yep,' the prince nods, smiling brightly. The prince clears his throat, gesturing to the horses. 'Something got stuck in my throat. It's okay now.'

'Right,' Derek says doubtfully. He awkwardly turns to the horses he tacked up. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the prince throw away something he can't decipher. It takes everything in Derek not to look back.

'Everything's ready.'

The prince sidles over to a horse and grabs the reins, hesitantly tugging as he prepares himself to climb the horse. Derek watches him stand there for a full minute, before his big mouth opens up. 'Do you need some help?'

'If you please,' the prince mumbles. Not quite sure what he's supposed to be doing, Derek walks over to him and hovers around. He is surprised when the prince grabs his hands and places them on his waist. Derek freezes again.

'Uh.'

'Pull me up.'

'Right.'

Derek hoists him up easily, fighting a blush when he sees the prince smirk down at him once he is done. 'You are a strong guy, aren't you.'

Derek is about to retort with a quip about how its clearly opposite for the prince when another cough begins, this one hitting harder than the others. The prince looks stricken as he covers his mouth, trying hard in vain to stop the hacking. The cough rips through his entire body and Derek reflexively reaches out to stop him from sliding off the horse.

For a moment, the prince's coughing is all that Derek hears, each wheeze more painful than the last. Then it ends, and what's left is the prince's ragged breathing. Then a wet petal slowly drops onto Derek's stretched out arm. After that, there's only silence.

Derek blinks, looking at the petal on his arm disbelievingly. He's no stranger to gardening, dabbled in the odd flower or two but this one is one he's only seen in the books. A white althea. Consuming love.

'Hanahaki.' He whispers. Then it really hits him. _Hanahaki_. His heart drops.

He looks up to find the prince watching him, wide eyed, clearly waiting for his reaction. Derek should do something, yell for a doctor, help the prince down or something but he remains frozen.

Something in him breaks just a little.

In the end, the prince makes the first move, hand slowly reaching out to pluck the petal off of his arm. Derek only watches as the prince flicks it away from him, offhandedly, like it doesn’t even concern him.

‘Relax,’ the prince clears his throat. ‘It’s just a flower.’

Derek lowers his eyes, unsure of what to say. His mind vaguely remembers that his hands are still around the prince, from trying to steady him earlier. He pulls them back unnecessarily gently, as if the prince is a delicate thing that could break from just the wring amount of force.

‘Stop that,’ Prince Stiles snaps. Derek looks up to meet his eyes, narrowed as they glare down at him. ‘I don’t need your pity, alright. I’m fine. We go through the back gates, and on to the Martin residence. I know it's further from the back entrance but...'

'..it's rarely used at night, so there'll be only one guard posted there.' Derek finishes his sentence. 'It's the best way to avoid being seen. I'm guessing I'm not the only one who thinks you shouldn't be doing this? In your condition, do you think it's best to...'

The prince cuts him off with a swift kick to his arm. It startles the horse slightly, softly nickering as it pushes Derek away. Prince Stiles takes a moment to stabilise it.

'Derek, right?' He says with a calculated tight smile. Derek stiffens with surprise. 'Before you started working for my father, you were just an orphan in the street struggling to sell coal for some bread.'

'Your highness, I was only trying to...'

'In my condition, I'm still a prince regardless,’ the prince counters, coolly. ‘Your prince. And I don't think I need to take advice from anyone, much less a stable boy.'

'Right,' Derek says, lips thinning as he rubs his sore arm. He grabs his own horse and mounts it, any lingering eagerness long gone. There is a reason why he forces himself to push away any hopes when it comes to the prince. They always gets dashed on the rocks anyway. 'As you wish.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know if you liked the tone of this, and what you think of the fic so far and what it's going to be like.

**Author's Note:**

> if it’s not an office au, i probably shoved some princes in there. i like comments and kudos a lot too.


End file.
